


Black Baccara

by Silent_So_Long



Series: otpprompts [18]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe, Art, Cover Art, Digital Art, Florists, M/M, Sexual Content, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr: otpprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, in which Paul is a florist who falls for Richard, one of his customers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Baccara

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most ambitious AU fic I've ever attempted; even though I'm not quite sure how well it worked, I'm pleased with the outcome all the same. It was written for the following (very cute) prompt left upon tumblr’s otpprompts: [Imagine person A is a florist and person B always stops by to admire the bouquets, but never purchases anything because they can’t afford to. After months of this charade, person A works up the courage to ask person B out by giving them a large bouquet of their favorite flowers.](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/108533571212/imagine-person-a-is-a-florist-and-person-b-always)
> 
> The title refers to a strain of roses, which are a very deep red in colour and are the closest to nature providing a black rose, apparently. They feature at the beginning of this story and so, are the hinge for Richard and Paul‘s burgeoning relationship. (I’m not one for flowers, at all, ordinarily, but I do love roses.)

[ ](http://s1368.photobucket.com/user/paulchen2/media/BeFunky_blackbaccara.jpg_zps0ak1j8hz.jpg.html)

Paul tweaked at one of the displays of bouquets on his market stall, weariness filtering through seemingly every bone in his body; it had been a long evening at Markthalle Neun and he was glad that it was finally drawing to a close. The place, as it usually was on a Thursday, had been packed, filled to the brim with people sampling the various types of food on display. Paul himself had even bought one of the pulled pork sandwiches from a stall nearby as his mid-evening meal and even intended to pick up some sausages for his weekend meals before he left. 

The noise of the constant conversations buzzing through the air around him had long since given him a headache and he found himself longing for the much quieter days of Friday and Saturday, when the old market hall would not see quite so much business as Street Food Night did. Despite this, however, Paul knew that he couldn’t complain; he often sold a lot of stock, mostly to außländers or simply to beaus buying gifts for their sweethearts. 

For something to do, he straightened some of the roses that had fallen a little askew in their display buckets; he ensured that the heads were suitably level and that none of the petals were wilting yet. He looked up with a smile when he felt a presence nearby; his eyebrows quirked in sudden appreciation when he saw the man poring over some of the mixed bouquets nearby. The man obviously hadn’t noticed that Paul was staring; Paul then took the opportunity to appraise the man in turn. 

His gaze slid appreciatively over the man’s body, big and broad and just the right kind of stocky for Paul’s tastes. The other man was dressed mostly in black, with red the only splash of colour about his person. His hair was dark, cut short at the sides and spiked long on the top; the strands looked soft and Paul wondered what it would feel like beneath his hands, whether it really would be as soft as it appeared. 

The man looked up and Paul had a sudden heart-stopping moment when their gazes met; the stranger's eyes were an indeterminate shade caught somewhere between blue and green, that would be undoubtedly changeable in different lighting. Paul had a sudden flash of what those eyes might look like in the shadows of his bedroom, beneath the soft lighting of guttering candles. 

“Hi, can I help you with anything?” Paul asked, even as he found himself silently praying that the man was single, and preferably gay. 

The man looked regretful, although his gaze slid over Paul’s body, dipping down low and back up again, a slight curve of a smile upon his mouth. Paul thought he saw appreciation there, in the other man’s gaze and then mentally cursed himself for being stupid; he had a horrible feeling that he was merely projecting his own needs upon what he hoped was a potential customer, that the other man was not as interested as Paul hoped he would be.

“Not today, I’m afraid, but your roses are quite beautiful,” the man said, as he pointed quickly at the roses that Paul had been fiddling with a mere few moments before. 

“They are,” Paul said, with a smile of his own, that bordered on pride. “Roses are my favourite kind of flower. In fact, I actually grew these myself.”

“Oh?” the other man said, in surprise. “It’s such a shame that I haven’t the money today to buy any, then. Roses happen to be my favourites too, particularly red ones.” 

Paul nodded in surprise; the stranger did not look the type to appreciate flowers. 

“Perhaps I will be able to buy some another time,” the other man commented musingly. 

“Well, I’m here every Thursday, Friday and Saturday,” Paul said, with a shrug, before he cursed himself for potentially sounding too desperate. “Most Sundays, as well.”

The other man seemed not to notice or perhaps to mind; instead, he nodded, and seemed to file the information away for future reference, or for what Paul hoped was future reference. 

“I’ll bear that in mind,” the man said. 

His fingers once again lingered upon the roses before he gave Paul a polite smile and wandered away, each movement unhurried, shoulders bowed slightly as though under the weight of some great regret or heavy thought. Paul found himself watching the other man leave, gaze skittering over the lines of the other man’s back hidden beneath the long lines of his coat. He caught a brief glance thrown over the man’s shoulder in his direction; their gazes met and they exchanged a smile and Paul’s heart suddenly caught in his chest. He hoped that he hadn’t mistaken the look of longing interest in the other man’s eyes; he also hoped that he would see him again.

::::

The following Thursday, Paul found himself unconsciously scanning the crowds for the face of the man that he’d seen the week prior; he’d found that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him, of the brooding way that the man had looked in repose, or the promise of a nice smile that had haunted his face on occasion. Oftentimes, he'd wondered what his name was, whether he’d be a Paul like himself or perhaps a Robert or a Hans. 

It came to almost closing time and he still hadn’t seen his mysterious rose-admirer, and then he saw him, dark haired head bowed as it had been the week before, broad shouldered body seeming to cut through the crowds effortlessly. Paul watched his approach and wondered what he did for a living; he thought he looked the type to work with his hands. He’d gotten a good look at the man’s hands, at long strong fingers and it looked as though he used them often, although it wasn’t something so crude as construction or engineering. They were not rough enough for that. 

He was so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized that the man had stopped beside his stall again, a hesitant smile hovering upon the other man’s mouth as he stared at Paul.

“You’re here,” the other man said, as though it really was in doubt. 

“Yeah,” Paul said, with a smile. “Although not for much longer. It’s almost closing time.” 

The other man nodded, but didn’t seem offended; Paul had wondered if he’d been unintentionally too harsh in his embarrassment. After all, he’d been thinking about the man upon his approach; he hoped that his thoughts hadn’t shown upon his face. 

“You looked like you were deep in thought just then,” the man said, as he examined a bunch of deep red roses nearby. 

“Ah,” Paul said, awkwardly.

So he’d noticed something then. 

“Yeah,” Paul continued, hoping that his brief hesitation hadn‘t been too noticeable. “It's been a long day. I guess I’m just tired and zoning out without realizing it. I’m sorry, I think I’m babbling.”

The other man laughed at that, but his laughter was more amused than mocking, Paul was glad to note. 

“You're not,” he assured Paul. “And I think we all can subscribe to being tired at the end of a long day. I sure know how that feels.” 

“Hmm,” Paul said, with a nod. 

“These are unusual,” the man said, as he gestured towards the roses.

For one brief instant, Paul felt a sinking, horrified feeling in his stomach, as though that comment was somehow a complaint or insult. He didn't know quite what to say yet his first instinct was to somehow apologise for the roses, even though he knew that it was ridiculous. Luckily, the other man rescued him from making a fool of himself by continuing to talk. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such dark red roses, before,” he said. “They are quite beautiful.”

“Yes, they’re called Black Baccara,” Paul explained, with a smile of relief. “They’re the closest to real black roses that nature can create.”

“Really? I thought you could get black roses?” the man asked in genuine surprise. 

“Not real ones. Artificial, silken ones, definitely,” Paul explained. “If you do actually find real roses which are black, then they’ve been tinted with black dye or food colouring.”

“Really?” the man asked again, but he sounded disappointed. “I had no idea the ones I’d seen were fake.”

“Sorry to break that to you,” Paul replied, surprising himself by feeling genuinely guilty. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t like fooling people like that. I prefer roses in their natural state and beauty.” 

“I agree,” the man replied, with a smile. “I take it you’re Paul, then?”

This last was accompanied by a point towards the sign over the stall, proclaiming it as “Paul’s Flowers.” 

“Yes, I am,” Paul said, with a nod. “But my surname is not flowers.” 

That at least made the man laugh, and Paul was surprised at the deepness of his chuckles; his smile was as nice as Paul had imagined it would be, touching his eyes with genuine warmth whilst pushing deep crinkles at the corners. 

“So what is it, if it’s not flowers, if you don’t mind me asking?” the man asked. 

“I don’t mind. It’s Landers. Paul Landers,” Paul supplied, easily. 

“Oh? I’m Richard, by the way. Richard Kruspe,” the newly identified Richard said, as he extended his hand towards Paul.

“Nice to meet you, Richard,” Paul said, with a smile as he took the man’s hand and shook it. 

For one brief instant, their fingers lingered against one another for a few seconds longer than necessary and Paul felt heat rising in his cheeks as he looked away. He hoped that the blush he could feel inside didn’t actually stain his cheeks with colour; that would have been embarrassing, and made him feel a little childish. Richard, too, looked a little awkward, but he offered Paul a small, almost shy, smile when Paul glanced his way again. Paul smiled back, yet he knew that he couldn’t act on whatever he was feeling for the other man, at least not yet. He thought it too early, and he was never one to rush into decisions without at least thinking on it first, to ensure that he was making the right decision. He decided that perhaps he would wait a while longer, just to make sure that his hopes were not as unfounded as he feared. 

He found himself discussing flowers with Richard; it seemed as though the other man was genuinely interested in them, although he admitted to not being an expert. He’d merely been attracted to the stall by the beauty on display, and Paul couldn’t help but notice the quick look that Richard gave him at those words. Then, Paul wasn’t sure whether he meant the flowers or Paul himself and felt too awkward to outright ask. 

At that point, another customer arrived, carrying an armful of potted Chrysanthemums and a hopeful expression; Richard waited whilst Paul dealt with the customer before stating, reluctantly, that he had to leave. 

“I have an early start in the morning,” Richard explained, with obvious reluctance in his tone. 

“Me too,” Paul agreed. 

Richard nodded, but lingered for a few moments longer, before he finally bade Paul goodbye; Paul was left alone to pack his wares away.

:::

Over the coming weeks, Richard turned out to be a regular visitor, passing by Paul’s stall every Thursday; Paul was beginning to suspect that it was more by design than through accident, as it had been the first time. He didn’t mind; in fact, he often looked forward to Richard’s visits every Thursday evening. Their conversations expanded from flowers to other matters, words comfortably effortless and unhurried; Paul discovered that Richard worked in a music store, selling instruments and giving guitar lessons every Wednesday afternoon.

“I can play a little guitar,” Paul said. “In fact, I used to play in a punk band once upon a time. Great fun.”

“I bet it was,” Richard said. “So what made you give up? It sounds like a past pursuit.”

“I haven’t given up, at least not exactly,” Paul said, with a smile. “The band just drifted apart; you know how things are sometimes. We spent some time just popping in and out of other bands, collaborations and all that. It just went and drifted and coalesced into something else. I took up selling flowers to make ends meet, because it seemed an easy job and it turned out I had an aptitude for it.”

“Green fingers,” Richard supplied.

“Exactly,” Paul said, with a nod. 

“So would you like to get into music again?” Richard asked, as he accepted one of Paul’s sweets. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Paul said, with a shrug. “If the offer came up and I liked the people I worked with, then sure, why not?” 

“Hmm,” Richard said, musingly, yet he said no more on the subject. 

And so things continued between them, with Richard wandering in every Thursday, their weekly conversations turning into something more meaningful; Paul came to depend on Richard to always have a funny or an interesting story from his hours spent at his music shop. In turn, Paul always introduced Richard to new flowers, or combinations of flowers. Whilst Richard always looked longingly at the roses, particularly the Black Baccara, he never quite had enough money to buy any for himself. Funds were tight for him, and would be for quite some time, or so Richard had briefly explained, a little shame-faced. Paul hadn’t liked to press the matter, especially when Richard didn’t expand on what he’d meant; Paul was never one to pry, preferring other people to explain their meaning at their own discretion and comfort. 

“Why don’t you just give some of the damn roses to him?” Schneider, one of Paul’s friends, said, one day after Richard had spent some time mooning over the Black Baccara.

Schneider worked on the stall next to Paul’s, selling meal staples such as sausages, potatoes and cheese.

“While you're at it, you can ask him out and stop being such a mooning idiot,” he continued.

“I’m not a mooning idiot,” Paul objected, uncertain as to whether he should be annoyed or not. 

“You are,” Schneider insisted. “Every Thursday afternoon, you start getting excited, like some love-sick puppy or something., The amount of time you two spend just staring at one another, making disgustingly large cow eyes at each other, honestly. It would be quite sickening actually, if it wasn’t so damn adorable.”

“Well, either it’s disgusting or adorable; it can’t be both,” Paul pointed out, with a laugh.

“You’re changing the subject, Paul,” Schneider pointed out.

Paul merely shrugged, knowing when he was caught red-handed. 

“So, just ask him already,” Schneider said. “Or I’ll ask him for you.” 

“You will do no such thing,” Paul said, sharply. “I can do it for myself just fine, thanks.”

“So do it,” Schneider said, as he tried to hide a smile behind one hand. 

Paul nodded, before he said - “I’ll think about it.”

Schneider huffed and had to be content with that. 

::::

Paul mulled over Schneider’s words for the entire week, and the closer that Thursday rolled around, the more nervous he became. Finally, the day dawned and the time drew near for Richard make his usual visit at the stall; Paul had the horrible sudden fear that he might not turn up at all, that he might be sick or in an accident or just have gotten bored of his company. His fears went unfounded, however, for Richard wandered up at around his usual time, a smile on his face that was as much for Paul as it was for the fresh Baccara Roses that were displayed in abundance on the stall. He leant down and sniffed appreciatively at the roses and the smile grew upon his face.

“I love the smell of these,” Richard murmured, by way of greeting.

“Me, too,” Paul said, all too aware of Schneider's close scrutiny from the stall nearby. “How was your day?”

“Not bad,” Richard said, with a shrug. “Long, slow, boring, filled with difficult customers. You know, the usual. Yours?” 

“Okay, I suppose,” Paul said, noncommittally. “It pretty much could be described in the same way as yours.”

“Oh dear,” Richard said, with a polite smile, as he absentmindedly plucked one of the roses from the pot to sniff it again. 

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but would you like some of those?” Paul asked, hesitantly. 

“You know I can’t afford them,” Richard said, regretfully. 

“On the house,” Paul said. “Call it a gift from me.” 

“You don’t have to,” Richard said, awkwardly, even though he cast a longing look at the roses. 

“Please,” Paul said. “I insist.” 

Richard stared at him, blankly, for a while, before he offered a hesitant, grateful smile.

If you're sure,” he said, quietly. “I’m not usually in the habit of accepting flowers from strange men.”

“I hope I’m not that strange, or at least, not any more,” Paul said, with an amused laugh. “We have been chatting for - how long? Two months?”

He’d purposefully under-estimated the time they’d been talking by at least six weeks and he knew it. 

“Three and a half,” Richard said, absently, proving that he, too, had kept as good a count as Paul had.

“Well, then. We’re hardly strangers,” Paul pointed out as he plucked a dozen of the roses from the pot and expertly began to wrap them up. “Let me do this for you. Please. I want to.”

“Why?” Richard asked, and he sounded so lost, as though unused to anyone doing anything remotely kind to him.

“Can’t I do something nice for someone I like?” Paul asked. 

“I suppose,” Richard said, and he sounded a little shocked. “Do you do this to everyone you like?”

“No,” Paul said, quietly. “You’re the first, actually.” 

“I don’t know how to take that,” Richard admitted, with a pause.

“Take it the way you want to,” Paul said, as he handed the flowers to the other man, fingers brushing against Richard’s own, momentarily.

Richard didn’t pull away; instead, he seemed to stroke one finger against Paul’s, prolonging the contact far longer than necessary. Paul was smiling by the time that he lifted his gaze to Richard’s; he noted that Richard, too, was smiling. 

“Can I ask you something?” Paul asked.

“Of course,” Richard said, after a brief pause.

“Are you free tomorrow night? I mean, you’re probably on a hot date with an equally hot girl or something, but shit, forget I asked,” Paul said, as he turned away.

“There’s no date, and there’s definitely no girl,” Richard said, clear distaste in his tone. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” Paul asked, looking back to Richard again.

“I’m gay,” Richard said, and he looked helpless again, as though expecting to be rebuffed.

“Oh? Well, good,” Paul said, with relief. “Me, too.” 

Richard grinned at that before he nodded.

“There’s no man in my life, either, if you’re wondering,” he said. “At least, not yet there isn‘t.”

He stared hopefully at Paul for a few seconds, before continuing. 

“I had meant to ask you out, but I didn’t think you’d be interested in someone like me,” he said.

“Why the hell not?” Paul asked, in genuine surprise. 

“I’m not interesting or cool like you,” Richard said, as he looked away.

“I think you are,” Paul said, simply. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

Richard looked back at him with a look of surprise upon his face.

“I don’t have much money,” Richard said, next.

“Like that’s the be-all and end-all of a relationship? I don’t care about money. I never have. I care about you,” Paul said. 

“Thank you,” Richard said, quietly. “And yes, I’m most definitely free tomorrow, if you are.” 

“I am,” Paul said, with a laugh. “If you’re wondering, I’m most definitely single at the moment, too.”

“Good,” Richard said, with a nod. “So, where should I meet you?” 

“You know the Teehaus?” Paul asked. “In the Englischen Garten?” 

“Sure,” Richard said, with a nod. 

“Well, I can always meet you there at eight?” Paul asked. 

“Sure,” Richard said, with a grin that reached his eyes.

“Great. So, it’s a date, then,” Paul said, a little self-consciously as though fearful that Richard might still turn him down.

“Absolutely,” Richard said. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“Me too,” Paul said, with a grin. “I swear I’m not usually this awkward.”

“I know. Neither am I,” Richard said, with a laugh. “It’s not every day I get asked out by hot flower-sellers.” 

“It’s not every day I ask out the hottest of my customers,” Paul countered with a smile. 

Richard laughed at that, hand unconsciously rising to rest upon Paul’s shoulder; his fingers lingered and Paul smiled, relishing the warmth of Richard’s palm as it leached through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m glad,” Richard said. “That you waited for me, I mean.”

“So am I,” Paul said, surprised when Richard leant forward to give him an awkward hug.

“That’s for the flowers,” Richard said, awkwardly. “They’ll always remind me of you.”

“Good,” Paul said, with a smile, as he patted Richard self consciously on his broad back.

Richard felt warm and soft against him, and he clearly smelt the other man’s cologne, warm and fresh and earthy. He closed his eyes, relished the remainder of the hug, even though it still felt awkward. He knew, that the hugs from hereon in could only get better. 

“So,” Richard said, as he eased away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

“Yes, absolutely,” Paul said, brightly with a grin. 

“Okay, great,” Richard said, as he backed away, grinning himself. 

Paul smiled and didn’t say anything more; instead, he watched Richard go, feeling as though the other man had taken part of his heart with him and perhaps he had. 

“About fucking time,” Schneider muttered from nearby. 

Paul chose to ignore him, completely. 

:::

The following evening, Paul arrived early at the Teehaus, to find that Richard was already there himself, looking nervous, and shifting from foot to foot. Paul smiled upon his approach, which grew into a grin when he saw the relief upon Richard’s face, as though the other man had thought he wouldn’t show.

“Hey,” Richard said, when Paul reached him, arms lifting uncertainly as though he wasn’t sure whether he was permitted to hug Paul or not.

“Hi, you,” Paul said, as he stepped closer and solved the problem for Richard by wrapping both arms around him.

Richard sighed a little, hands descending upon Paul’s back gratefully, cheek turning to rest gently against Paul’s own. 

“You’re looking good,” Paul commented, once the hug had ended.

Richard, as always, was wearing black, yet that evening, he’d chosen to wear a shirt, coupled with pinstripe trousers and a matching waistcoat. His tie proved to be the only colour on his outfit, made from the deepest burgundy silk. 

“You, too,” Richard said, reaching out with one hand to finger the collar of Paul’s shirt. “It’s the same colour as the roses you gave me.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, not wanting to admit that he’d chosen that shirt purposefully for that reason. 

“I like it,” Richard said, simply.

“Thanks,” Paul replied, with a smile. 

The appreciative look in Richard’s eyes made his prior agonies over his wardrobe choice worth it; he’d spent at least an hour changing his mind over possible combinations, before he’d finally settled on the burgundy shirt and black trouser outfit he’d picked out first. 

“So, shall we go in?” Richard asked, after a few awkward moments had passed.

“Yeah, we‘d best do,” Paul said, with a laugh, before he led the other man in. 

The evening passed pleasantly; both men soon forgot their earlier awkwardness, and returned to their usual easy conversations, laughter following on the heels of it all. The meal itself was delicious; Paul had chosen spaghetti with tomatoes, whilst Richard had enjoyed a plate of Wiener Schnitzel; both men had then subsequently enjoyed warm apple strudel with ice cream and coffee. 

Paul was disappointed when the evening finally ended and they made their way out into the moonlight, to walk through the Englischen Garten beneath the stars. He smiled when Richard propped his arm around his waist, a little more comfortable about contact now than he had been earlier in the evening. Somehow, it felt right to Paul; nice, welcome, comforting even, as though Richard had always been meant to touch him. He liked the feeling a lot. Richard seemed also to like it, for his fingers described small patterns against his hip, as though exploring the feel of Paul beneath his fingertips.

“It was a nice evening,” Richard offered after they’d walked for a while in silence.

“Yeah, I enjoyed myself,” Paul said, immediately with a genuine grin up at Richard.

It was only then that he realized that Richard was taller then he was by quite a few inches; he found that he liked that, too. 

“Me, too,” Richard nodded, with a grin of his own. “We should do it again, sometime.”

“Yeah. Are you free next week?” Paul asked, hopefully,. hoping that he didn’t sound too desperate or pushy through asking. 

“Sure,” Richard asked. “Same place, same time?”

“I’d like that,” Paul said, with a nod and a smile of agreement. 

They continued walking in silence, before Paul spoke again.

“I hope that that doesn’t mean that you’re gonna stop coming to visit me at my stall. You're the highlight of my week,” he said, with a laugh. 

“As if,” Richard snorted derisively. “It’s a highlight for me, too.”

“Good. Just so we’re clear on that,” Paul said, with a chuckle.

Richard’s laughter seemed to mesh with his in the night air, rolling out across the flower beds to join the stars above. They walked again in silence, finally coming to a halt before a bank of heady rose bushes. Richard inhaled deeply with a smile on his face; Paul was happy to watch the contented expression on Richard’s face. Richard caught him smiling, and gave him a quizzical smile in return. Paul merely shrugged but offered no explanation; Richard didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he crooked one hand beneath Paul’s chin and tilted it; Paul held his breath until he felt the first brush of Richard’s mouth against his own. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss; although it wasn’t perfect, Paul still thought it was the best kiss he’d ever received. Richard also seemed to think so, for as soon as it ended, he was leaning in to steal another; Paul was only too happy to respond, lips pressing gently against Richard’s own again. 

He felt, rather than heard, Richard’s contented sigh vibrating against his lips, and returned the favour with a sigh of his own; the kiss, the hug, the entire evening, felt as though it was the best he’d had in a long while. He was all too content to remain standing there with Richard for a while longer, kissing, before the evening, inevitably, drew to a close and they had to return to their separate apartments. 

:::

Several more months passed, and Paul continued to see Richard on a regular basis; their relationship turned gradually more serious as the weeks unfolded. Richard’s money problems gradually dwindled and disappeared altogether; Paul eventually discovered that the other man had been saving up to pay a local luthier for a clutch of customised guitars. Paul had initially laughed, which resulted in Richard‘s amused embarrassment; Paul had assumed that Richard had been strapped for cash for other, more serious, reasons than over mere musical instruments. 

Another month passed and Paul visited Richard’s apartment for the first time, which proved far more homely and comfortably organised than his own apartment. Richard’s customised guitars took pride of place in his music room; Paul took some time to appreciate the beauty of them. 

He knelt before them, the pads of his fingertips running over the surface of a particularly beautiful electric guitar; its beige surface had been artistically burnt into darkened patches around the edges, and the body was scored with several deep red welts and cuts. He glanced up when he heard Richard stop in the doorway and smiled up at the other man; Richard was looking down upon him with an expression of hope upon his face. 

“This one is really beautiful,” Paul said, with a smile of his own as he gestured towards the burnt guitar.

“It is, isn’t it?” Richard nodded, with a proud grin. “I’m really happy with how that one turned out. It sounds really nice, too. Nice tone and action. Very clean.”

“I’ll bet. I can see why you paid so much for these,” Paul said, as he indicated the entire rack. “Really lovely work.”

“Thanks,” Richard said, as he wandered over to stand beside Paul.

Paul straightened, feeling suddenly nervous, although he didn’t quite know why. Richard smiled at him, before he spoke.

“Can I interest you in coffee?” he asked.

“Please,” Paul replied, with a nod.

He followed Richard through to the modest kitchen, which was warm and decorated mostly in dark wood and chrome. He leant upon the closest work-surface, arms folded comfortably across his chest as he watched Richard’s easy movements about the kitchen; the other man moved confidently, effortlessly about the room, making even the simple task of making coffee look graceful. 

Once the coffee had been made, Richard settled down at the kitchen table, after first setting out a plate of fresh pastries upon its dark surface. Paul settled beside him and took one of the pastries gratefully, before he began nibbling hungrily. Conversation once again returned to its normal cadences, nervousness disappearing beneath the flow of easy words and discussions over everything from sport to music. 

Once the first mug of coffee had been consumed, Richard stood to make refills; Paul settled back in his chair, content to relax whilst the other man worked. It didn’t take long for Richard to return, mug placed carefully in front of him; Paul looked up when Richard dotted an affectionate kiss to the top of his head. Paul grinned and arched up to meet the other man’s mouth in mid-air, lips brushing against lips eagerly. His hand rested upon the back of Richard’s neck, fingers brushing easily through the soft strands of the other man’s hair whilst they kissed.

Richard was the first to pull away and settle back beside him, one hand resting upon Paul’s knee whilst they drank their coffee. That time, they didn’t speak, and they remained companionably silent when they stood to wash their dirty mugs clean. 

Paul was still wiping his mug with the tea towel when Richard came up behind him, arms sliding easily around his waist; Paul’s breath caught in his throat when he felt the first brush of Richard’s mouth against his neck, when the other man openly nuzzled him. He leant back into Richard’s warmth, a sigh escaping his lips as Richard’s hand explored his abdomen, describing slow circles against the soft flesh of Paul’s stomach.

“Reesh,” Paul murmured, as Richard’s hand dipped lower, to skim lightly, playfully over Paul’s groin.

Paul’s dick jerked with interest at the contact, and Richard murmured out a small laugh of approval against Paul’s neck; Paul could feel the first press of arousal against his back from where Richard stood so close to him. He murmured Richard’s name again when the other man continued to press his palm against his partial erection; that one word turned into appreciative moans dragged from Paul’s throat as Richard began stroking him through the cover of Paul’s jeans.

Paul felt a sudden frisson of nervousness rocket through him; he wondered if this would mark the first time that they ever would sleep together. His nervousness was swept away when Richard started sucking bruises into Paul’s neck; Paul groaned aloud at that, knowing that those bruises would be left there, for everyone to see and he didn‘t care. He wanted to be visibly claimed, wanted everyone to know that he belonged to someone now, that he was in love and was loved in turn. His hips bucked up against Richard’s questing palm, Richard's name squeezing past his lips, once more.

“Let’s take this into the bedroom,” Richard murmured against Paul’s throat, fully hard now against the small of Paul’s’ back.

Paul nodded but was suddenly unable to speak; he didn’t protest when Richard took the mug from his hands and placed it, along with the tea towel, upon the nearby work-surface. They lay forgotten behind them, as Richard led Paul by the hand towards the bedroom; the door closed softly behind them as Paul turned into Richard's heat. He laid his hands upon the other man’s shoulders when Richard crowded into him, hands gripping Paul’s hips to draw him in even further.

Paul felt a surge of arousal rocket through him at that; he hadn’t expected Richard to be the impatient type when it came to sex, yet he found that he liked it. He responded when Richard’s mouth claimed his in an open-mouthed kiss, all wet sliding tongues and aroused moans that barely leaked past fumbling lips.

Paul felt Richard's hands tug at his shirt, pushing it away from his hips and up over his chest; he eased away to pull the garment over his head to discard it upon the floor. Richard followed suit; his shirt soon was discarded to lay upon Paul‘s. The rest of their clothing soon went the way of their shirts, boots and jeans and underwear dropping to the floor with satisfying little thumps. 

Paul was the first on the bed, Richard his eager shadow; Richard laid partially on top of Paul,. heavier body keeping Paul willing prisoner against the mattress. Paul’s hands explored Richard's body as eagerly as Richard’s explored his; every dip and curve and swell of Richard’s body seemed familiar yet strange to him at the same time, warm and smooth and responsive beneath his palms. Richard's hands were warm weights against him as Richard returned his caresses eagerly, fingers reaching down to stroke at Paul’s dick before skimming away again; Paul groaned in frustration and ground his hips against Richard’s, needing the friction and some sort of completion before the agony of it all drove him mad.

Richard laughed against him, yet it was good-natured laughter, under-pinned by a certain purring note of arousal that Paul liked. Richard's mouth sucked more bruises into Paul’s skin, working lower to finally slide over Paul’s cock; Paul’s cry shimmered through the air as Richard began pleasuring him, mouth and tongue warm and wet and perfect against him. It didn’t take him long before he came down Richard’s throat, the other man’s name heavy upon his lips as Richard continued to pleasure him through his climax. 

Richard kissed his way up Paul’s body once he was finished and kissed him; Paul could taste himself on Richard's tongue and the taste of Richard himself beneath it all. They continued kissing for a while, while Richard’s hands explored Paul’s body, until Paul began to rouse again. Richard eased away to retrieve the lube from the bathroom; Paul admired the easy way with which Richard walked on his return, all prowling grace and an affirmed strut when Richard realised that Paul was enjoying the view. 

Paul drew his legs up and placed the soles of his feet flat upon the bed; he waited for Richard to crawl up between them, the brush of his body tickling against the bare skin of his legs as he pressed between them. 

Paul waited until he felt the first press of Richard’s slick fingers against him; his back arched when he felt the first press and burn of the other man inside him. Richard stilled and waited for Paul to adjust to him, before he continued to prepare Paul; Paul was a moaning mess of nerves and arousal by the time that Richard pulled away and slicked up his cock to lay on top of him. 

Paul rested his hands on Richard’s shoulders and stared up into the other man’s face, as Richard guided himself inside him; Richard’s expression went lax and the briefest smile skittered across his mouth when he was fully inside Paul. Paul arched up into the other man’s body when Richard began to thrust and all residue of nervousness fell away, stripped away by the push and pull of skin against skin, hips against hips, and body twined easily around body. Paul’s name was heavy upon Richard’s lips, interspersed with every thrust and every curse, until Richard came, riding out his climax with erratic thrusts of his hips. Paul came a few moments later, a choked out moan of Richard’s name climbing up through the air to be kissed away by Richard himself. 

Richard eased away once it was over, to lay beside Paul upon the bed, one hand resting almost possessively against the other man’s stomach. Paul splayed his fingers over Richard’s own, feeling contentment washing through his satiation. He turned onto his side when he felt Richard looking at him, and settled his head upon the other man’s shoulder after he‘d offered Richard a happy smile. He felt Richard's hand resting against his back but neither man spoke for a long time; they didn’t need to, for words would have shattered the moment and rendered it meaningless. 

In time they rose and headed for the shower, where they stood beneath the jetting waters, hands coursing over sticky skin until their bodies were finally clean. Every movement spoke of mutual trust, even love and Paul felt himself more contented than he’d been in a long time. Richard also looked relaxed, and his smile, when he looked upon Paul in the shower, was a happy one that reached his eyes. 

After they were dry and dressed again, they made their way to the music room again, where Richard handed Paul his acoustic guitar.

“Can you play something for me?” he asked. 

Paul nodded easily before he played one of his old punk songs from years before, Richard his interested and willing audience. 

“You know, Paulchen, perhaps we should start a band,” Richard said, with a smile once the piece was over. 

“Hah, yeah, maybe one day,” Paul said, uncertain as to whether Richard actually meant it or not.

“I’m serious,” Richard said, obviously having caught the tail-end of Paul’s uncertainty. “I mean, why not? What‘s stopping us?” 

“I would actually like that,” Paul said, as he smiled up at Richard wistfully. “I mean, it’s not like I want to work on a market stall for the rest of my life, even though I do enjoy it, most of the time.”

“I know what you mean; I don’t exactly want to be stuck teaching snotty teenagers their scales for the rest of my life, either,” Richard said, with an easy laugh that made Paul smile. “Anyway, it’s worth a thought.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, morosely. 

“Yeah,” Richard repeated, before he fell silent again. 

They remained in silence for a while with Paul picking out a few odd chords every now and again, before Richard spoke again.

“Paulchen?“ he asked.

“Hmm?” Paul asked, without glancing up from Richard’s guitar. 

“Will you stay the night?” Richard asked, hope underpinning the feigned nonchalance in his tone. 

Paul glanced up, and saw the guarded look in Richard’s eyes, as though the other man expected him to turn him down. 

“I’d like that,” Paul said, without hesitation. “If you’ll have me.” 

“Oh, I’ll have you, don’t worry,” Richard said, with a sudden leer that made Paul laugh.

“It’s a deal,” Paul agreed, through his laughter. “But at least let me buy you dinner as a thank you.”

Richard grinned at that, before he said - “Pizza?” 

“Whatever you want,” Paul said, as he straightened. “I’ll even spring for some garlic bread, if you want some.”

“Ooh, big spender,” Richard said, laughing at Paul’s playful shoulder nudge on the way past.

Paul ordered the pizza by phone, before they made their way to the living room, where they remained locked in companionable conversation until the doorbell announced the arrival of their pizza. It was as Richard returned with their meal, that Paul suddenly saw his future mapped out before him; every day spent being happy with Richard. Everything felt comfortable, and effortless between them, something he’d never fully experienced with anyone else before. 

Richard caught his contented smile and returned it with one of his own, but he didn’t remark upon it. Paul was glad for that; he didn't want to put how he was feeling into words. Just to know that it existed between them, with Richard fully aware of it was enough; there, it lay unspoiled, untainted, but irrevocably theirs. He thought for a chance meeting and a conversation over almost-black roses in a crowded market hall, that things had turned out very well indeed; he’d found who he hoped would be his life-partner and a chance to be in a band again. Life couldn’t be much better, in Paul’s opinion.


End file.
